Yes or no
by Shannanigans
Summary: Sam is struggling after the season 6 finale.  Dean does his best to help, even if it means saving Sam from himself.


**Yet another of my late-night stories. Written then posted immediately. I'm certain there are mistakes. Please let me know what you think, but please be kind. Set after season 6 finale. ~Shannon **

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"Yes or no?" He was screaming. He knew he was screaming. He couldn't help himself. "Dammit Dean, yes or no?"

Sam's reality had gotten so out of control that the brothers had resorted to a verbal shorthand. Yes meant _yes, what you are seeing is real._ No meant _no_.

99 percent of the time, what he was seeing was not real. _No_. Dean felt out of control, powerless to help Sam. Sam would be fine one moment and then the next he'd be cowering in the corner, seeing something Dean could not. The screaming was the worst. Sometimes it took several tries for Dean to get through the veil of hell to Sam.

Sam was drinking more and dammit, who could blame him? Dean had been a borderline alcoholic upon his return from hell too. It's just that Sam is on those damn meds. Anti-psychotics. Dean never thought he'd see the day that his smart, funny, nerdy brother would be prescribed such heavy-duty psych meds. The meds left Sam tired and listless. Some days he didn't get out of bed. Others, he'd almost be like the old Sam.

This was not one of those days.

"No Sam. Sammy, no. It's not real." Dean reached out to Sam, cautiously – he had, after all, learned that the hard way.

Quietly, Sam shook his head. "Are you sure Dean? Are you sure it isn't real? Can't you feel the fire?"

Dean put on a brave face. "Nope, Sam. All is well. You wanna get off the floor now?"

Sam meekly held his hand up for Dean to grab. Dean pulled Sam's hand and helped him from the floor between the beds to actually sitting on one of them. It only took a moment for Sam to calm his breathing. With determination, he opened the bedside dresser and grabbed the bottle of whiskey he always kept handy.

Dean looked away. It hurt him to see Sam hurting this way. And the drinking? Dean let it go for now, but he was determined to not let it become a problem for Sam. He'd already battled addiction and a nasty detox process. Once Sam was settled down, Dean stood to grab his keys. Sam would need some food in his stomach if he was going to hit the bottle. "I'll be right back Sammy. K?"

Sam didn't look up, he just stared at the bottle in his hands. "Yep."

By the time Dean returned with Sam's sandwich, Sam was passed out on the bed. The bottle was significantly lighter. Sighing sadly, Dean set the bag on the table and attempted to wake his brother. "Sammy? C'mon Sam, time to eat something."

Sam grimaced through closed eyes. "No De. Don't wanna." His words ran together.

"Don't care man. You cannot drink on an empty stomach. I don't care how bad you feel." Dean grabbed Sam's shoulder and pushed him into a semi-upright position on the motel bed.

"Ssssaid, no." slurred Sam. He swatted at Dean's hands. "M'jus gonna puke wha' ever you make me eat."

Dean gave in… a little. "Just get the crackers down, ok? You can eat the soup later."

Sam grabbed the packet of crackers from Dean's hands, after a few attempts. Ripping them open, he got crumbs all over himself and the bed. He stuffed the crackers in his mouth, then defiantly looked at Dean when he took a swig of whiskey to wash them down with. "Done. Now I wanna sleep." Sam slid sideways until he was slumped awkwardly on the bed.

Dean grabbed the blanket from the bottom of the bed, placed it over his brother and quietly wished his brother "sweet dreams."

The following morning, Sam was up before Dean. He was showered, dressed and eating a bagel while reading the paper. Dean got up with a groan. He didn't exactly sleep all that well last night. Sam smirked as he watched his brother head into the bathroom.

The day went by without incident. The boys researched a haunting in the next county. Apparently the old lady wasn't ready to leave her house, something that irked the new owners. Things got serious when their teenage daughter was pushed down the stairs.

Dinnertime found the brothers at a local bar and grill eating burgers and drinking beers. Dean tried to keep things light, but luck wasn't on his side. Loud noises still bothered Sam and the noise level had just been exponentially raised by the band that had just set up shop in the bar area. Dean rose up to leave when Sam stopped him. "I've gotta try sometime, right?" Sam looked about ready to jump out of his skin.

Dean sat down slowly. "Fine, but if things get out of hand – we're leaving."

The band played songs that neither brother recognized, but the locals were very enthusiastic. By the time a gaggle of girls had moved up front and started screaming and cheering, Sam was pulling his prescription anti-anxiety meds out of his bag. Swallowing the pills with his beer, Sam looked at Dean. "Enough."

The short walk to the motel was trying for Dean. Sam had had three beers with dinner and two anti-anxiety pills immediately following. He couldn't walk straight and had to be supported by Dean. "S…screams." Sam raised his head long enough to look Dean in the eyes.

"I know Sammy. You did good. You lasted longer than I thought you would. Now let's get you home." Dean was a bit worried about Sam's condition but was determined to care for his brother.

"De?"

"Yeah Sam?"

"Yes or no?"

"Yes, Sam." Dean replied gently.

_Hmph. Figures, _thought Sam. "Thought this one wasn't so bad. Leas' you're here to ground me Dean. Keep me from floating away."

By the time they got back to the hotel, both boys were exhausted. Dean helped a swaying Sam into bed. He took off Sam's shoes and covered him with the old bedspread. He passed out immediately. Dean flopped down onto his bed, spent. Within a few minutes he was fast asleep too.

A noise woke Dean about an hour later. He looked over at Sam's bed and found it empty. Getting up, he noticed the light streaming from under the bathroom door.

"Sammy? You okay in there?"

Nothing. No response.

Worried now, Dean opened the bathroom door. Sam was slumped in the empty bathtub, a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a pill bottle in the other.

"Shit!" Dean rushed over to Sam and grabbed the pill bottle. They had just refilled Sam's anti-psychotics and anti-anxiety meds yesterday. Including the two that Sam had at the bar, there should be 28 left. Dean spilled the contents of the anti-anxiety meds onto the bathroom floor. Counting twice he calculated that Sam had taken three pills and had drank about half the bottle of whiskey. Dean slapped Sam's cheek. "Sammy? Sam, wake up man. It's Dean. I need you to wake up."

Sam must have heard the worry-laced voice calling to him from wherever he was. "Mmmmm hmmm." He opened his eyes to small slits. Dean grabbed Sam under the arms and heaved him to an upright position. Well, sort of upright. Sam sagged against Dean as Dean maneuvered them out of the tiny bathroom. Flicking on the light, he proceeded to walk Sam from one side of the room to the other.

Sam huffed, "M'tired De'."

"I don't care Sammy. Can't have you o.d.'ing like Kurt Cobain."

"Sssshh."

At first Dean thought Sam was shushing him.

Sam tried again. "Kur' Cobai' sssssh… sssssshot h'mself."

Dean felt a sliver of relief. After all, if Sam could recollect that detail, perhaps it wasn't ER time.

After about an hour of walking Sam around the room, Dean sat Sam in the chair by the window. Sam's head slumped forward to his chest. Dean grabbed Sam's chin and forced him to look up. "How ya doin' Sammy?"

"Mmm fi'. Jus' tired. But I don' hear th'screams 'ny more. Thasss good." Sam's hand grabbed Dean's wrist holding onto his chin. "S'okay De'. Don' worry s'much. See? M'okay." Sam attempted to stand, but didn't get very far.

"Whoa Sam. Okay. Let me help you to bed. I'm gonna be wakin' you up every hour, but at least you probably won't remember most of it."

After Dean helped Sam to bed and covered him, Sam grabbed a hold of Dean's wrist once again. "I find it shelter to speak to you." Sam sounded remarkably clear at that moment, then closed his eyes in sleep.

Dean stood by Sam's bed, taken aback. Sammy was still in there. Stupid, sentimental Sammy. Relaxing just a bit, Dean sat next to Sam's sleeping form and turned on the television. It was going to be a long night.

Sam didn't remember the previous night, but Dean couldn't forget it. Sam threw up several times the following morning, but was back to "normal" by the afternoon and was ready to hunt by nightfall.

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Dean had been reluctant to take Sam along for the hunt. He still seemed so fragile at times. Now he just seemed… determined. The hunt had gone well, pretty cut and dry. Now the brothers were back at the motel room eating pizza and watching reruns.

Sam knew he had made a mistake the night before. He wasn't stupid. Scratch that, he had been stupid. Sam grabbed the remote from the table and turned off the television. "Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean answered with a mouthful of pizza.

"I'm um… I'm sorry about last night. It won't happen again." Sam looked Dean straight in the eye.

Dean swallowed the mouthful of pizza and swung his legs over the bed to the floor to look into Sam's eyes as well. "Not gonna lie, little brother. You scared the shit out of me last night. I'm here for ya' Sam, but you've gotta talk to me. I can't help you if you won't talk. But, believe me, I know better than anyone just how hard that is."

"I'll try Dean. I don't want to be like this. I'm fighting. I'm fighting so hard to stay here… to not get stuck in that other world. I try so hard to remember that I am not alone." Sam looked down at his hands.

Dean studied Sam for a moment. "I find it shelter to speak to you."

Sam looked up, puzzled. "Emily Dickinson? Dean are you quoting Emily Dickinson?"

"Not me, dude. You. Last night you said that to me right before passing out."

Sam looked taken aback. Then he spoke softly. "I meant it, as corny as it sounds. I mean, I don't remember saying it, but I mean it." Sam cleared his throat, shook his head and grabbed another piece of pizza, trying to return some normalcy to the room.

Dean was aware of what Sam was doing and decided to help out. Of course, it couldn't hurt to test Sam a bit. "You want something to drink?" Dean stood to walk over to the little fridge where they kept the soda and beer.

Sam wasn't in the mood for a drink. _Maybe_, he thought, _it was time to cut back_.

"Sammy! I said, do you want something to drink? Yes or no?"

"No." Sam replied. Next he added quietly, "thanks."


End file.
